Saturday, May 22, 2010
Before kids, I preferred booths to chairs in restaurants. They’re cushy. Now that I have two little daughters running an insane ‘I-love-mommy-so-much-I-want-to-crawl-back-into-her-uterus’ campaign, I’d rather have a chair. With armrests wrapped in thorns for maximum protection.
In a booth, my three and five-year-old will flank me, pinning my arms to my sides while I try to eat, grab crayons, cut their chicken, and squeeze the ketchup like a Tyrannosaurus Rex-lady with mobility only up to my elbows.
Maybe I should call Saturday Night Live. They could revive their ‘What is Love’ skit with my two munchkins in place of Will Ferrel and Chris Kattan.
When we went to the local Olive Garden for the first time, we got a booth. I was stunned when my older daughter volunteered to sit next to her dad. The kids colored happily until the meals arrived. My two only eat one thing in restaurants: chicken fingers and fries. Not only does the Olive Garden offer this kid-staple, they have the best darn chicken fingers and fries I’ve ever had in a chain restaurant. If you don’t have kids, borrow one and see for yourself. To top it off, they give out Andes chocolate mints with the check.
It was the perfect family dinner, that is, until my youngest stood up in her chair, leaned over, and vomited on her plate. Check please!